


Yours. Ours.

by elfin



Category: Backstrom (TV)
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘“You won’t see next Christmas.’ Lucky you don’t believe in this stuff, isn’t it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours. Ours.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: fic begins with a shooting in a nightclub, please be aware.  
> WARNING: brief mentions of non-consensual sex as referenced in the show  
> NOTE: quote from Anne Holt’s ‘Dead Joker’

_‘“You won’t see next Christmas.’ Lucky you don’t believe in this stuff, isn’t it?” - Ancient. Chinese. Secret_

 

‘Lieutenant Backstrom?’ Everett lifted his head from his hands. ‘You can see him now.’

~

_The explosion of violence lasted twenty, maybe thirty seconds. The aftermath lasted forever. Sadly, horrifically, it wasn’t unusual; a kid walking into a public place - cafe, cinema, God forbid, a school - to randomly kill strangers before taking his own life. But in Portland, it was rare._

_Christmas Eve, the Shadow Bar, a seventeen year old boy walked in and emptied the chambers of two semi-automatic guns into thirteen random people, saving the last bullet for himself._

_Every cop in Portland was on the scene within minutes: homicide, vice, uniform, even the SCU, dragged away from their Christmas pizza. By the time they got there, they couldn’t get close for emergency vehicles, turning the whole scene red and blue._

_Backstrom wasn’t sure what they were going to be able to offer that the rest of the Portland Police Department couldn’t. The FBI would be there within the hour anyway, then every local cop in sight would be dismissed back to the streets. Still, Niedermayer vanished to offer his assistance to the amassed forensics officers already on site, and Moto joined the uniforms holding back the crowds._

_There were EMTs bringing victims out on gurneys. The first four Backstrom saw were in body bags. The fifth was Valentine._

~

Everett pushed the ICU room door open quietly and finally released the breath he’d been holding. He’d expected the worst, but it just looked as if Val was sleeping and not in a chemically induced coma. A nurse had already explained that they’d dial down the breaths taken for him by the ventilator in increments, so that as and when Valentine was happy breathing by himself, they would remove the tube and allow him to wake naturally.

The bullet had collapsed a lung, caused internal bleeding and blood loss. Had help been much longer in coming, he would have drowned in his own blood. As it was, the surgeon was confident of a full recovery. There were wires and tubes; the nurse had told him briefly what each one was doing, that not a single one was anything to be scared of or concerned about. The IV was delivering sedative, blood and saline. They were monitoring pulse, temperature and blood oxygen levels. The catheter was a necessity while Valentine was unconscious. He looked peaceful if pale, although the dark makeup was probably making it worse. 

There was a chair by the bed, and Backstrom dropped into it. With a trembling hand, he reached up and moved a couple of stray hairs away from Val’s forehead. Then he put his head in his hands and cried.

~  
 _  
At first he didn’t believe his own eyes. It was Almond who shocked him into realising what he was seeing was real._

_‘Is that…? Lieutenant….’_

_Backstrom didn’t hear any more. He reached the EMTs as they reached the ambulance and somehow strung together the important words, ‘He’s my brother.’  
_  
~

Backstrom opened his eyes and realised he must have fallen asleep. He was holding Val’s hand, other arm tucked between his head and the mattress. His eyes were sticky, head aching. He needed water and a piss. Carefully rising to his feet, he squeezed Val’s fingers and after a moment’s hesitation he leaned over and kissed his forehead. 

‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he promised.

There was a water cooler next to the nurse’s station, and a bathroom just outside ICU. On his way back to Val’s side he happened to look along the corridor and saw his entire team camped out in the ICU family room. 

Gravely was asleep across three chairs, head on Almond’s lap as he turned the pages in an old paperback. Moto, Niedermayer and Paquet were reading magazines and newspapers. They all looked up as he approached them.

Niedermayer spoke first. ’Sir… how’s Valentine doing?’

He explained the situation briefly. ‘He isn’t going to wake up for at least a day. There’s nothing any of you can do, so go home.’ He hoped his voice gave away how grateful he was for them being there because right then he didn’t have the words.

‘Nadia and I are staying,’ Niedermayer told him, no argument. Backstrom was too tired to argue anyway. Paquet stood up and hugged him, her arms winding around his neck. She kissed him on the cheek then stepped back. 

‘Give him a kiss from me,’ she told him, and Niedermayer added, 

‘From me too.’

~

Everett slept in the chair besides Valentine’s bed, holding his hand. He was woken on the hour, for the first two hours, by nurses checking their patient’s vitals. The empty blood bag was removed in the early hours and not replaced. The machine assisting Val’s breathing was dialled down a little. The bag at the end of the catheter tube was changed; taken away for analysis, to check for blood. 

Backstrom slept through the next two checks. The nurse who came in at eight told him to go and get some breakfast while they made Valentine more comfortable. As much as he wanted to stay, he knew Val wouldn’t appreciate him witnessing what they needed to do in order to give him the best care, so for once he did as he was told. 

He wasn’t hungry, but he went out to the waiting area where Niedermayer bought him a coffee and a sandwich from the vending machine. 

‘You two should go home,’ he reiterated. 

Niedermayer ignored him. ‘We’re staying here, for when you need a break or something to eat.’

Paquet squeezed his arm gently. ‘Do you think you should call Valentine’s mom?’

He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t thought about anything but waiting for Val to open his eyes. He took some time to think about it then, seriously, trying to put himself in Val’s place and decided against it.

‘No. Not yet. Just make sure the news doesn’t report his name.’ Paquet nodded. ‘When he’s awake, I’ll ask him.’

She nodded in agreement. ’You got it, hobbit.’

~

One of the nurses looking after Valentine on the day shift brought Backstrom a couple of books to read and that simple kindness almost undid him. 

‘I’d tell you to go and get some proper sleep,’ she said to him, ‘but I know you won’t. Are you really his brother?’

‘Half-brother,’ he corrected her. 

‘Is that all, I wonder.’ She didn’t make it a question and he didn’t give her an answer because no, that wasn’t all. For a start, there was the night he’d finally caught the bogeyman, saved the lives of two young girls, because of what Val had told him when Everett had forced him to relive the memories and the pain of his own horrific experience without so much as a one word apology. When everything had calmed down, when the adrenaline had drained from his system and the bastard was being charged, Backstrom had thought back to what he’d done and felt as guilty as hell.

He returned to the barge in the middle of the night. Paquet was gone, but Valentine was still up, drinking vodka and clearing up after the team had used the place as a makeshift office for twenty-four hours. 

‘Val….’ He was ignored at first, unsurprisingly. He knew how upset he’d left Valentine, it was why he’d sent Paquet to be with him, because he’d needed to focus on catching the Hooded Man before. But Val was brave, he was strong, and sometimes Backstrom tended to forget the hell he’d survived. ‘I’m sorry.’

Finally he stopped cleaning, relaxed his shoulders and faced Everett. ‘I’m glad you found them alive.’

‘That doesn’t mean what I did was right.’

'You did what you needed to do.'

Backstrom put three fingers on the pulse point at the base of Val's throat and with only the slightest hesitation, pushed the loose neck of his T-shirt over to one side, exposing the tattoo high on his chest. 

'You gave me what I needed to catch him and save them.' Looking carefully, he could see the scars under the ink, ran the tips of his fingers over them. 

After a second or two, Val lifted his hand away, holding on to it as he stepped closer, head bowed. 

'Look at me,' he murmured. ‘Please. Look at me, just once, with more love than he did.'

Val's words had the same sting they’d had earlier. But now Backstrom was able to ache for him. He reached into all the deeply buried places in his heart and let it all, for once, shine in his eyes, wet with unshed tears. 

When Val lifted his head to see, his smile was enough. 'Thank you.' He put his hands either side of Backstrom's face and leaned in to kiss him.

It would have become more if Val had pushed it. His mouth was surprisingly soft, the flick of his tongue over Everett’s lips shockingly arousing. He found his free hand hovering inches from Val’s hip, seconds from touching. But Val didn’t push it. He stepped away and finished his drink, the set of his shoulders more relaxed. Safely back from the edge again, settling into where he felt safe. Backstrom left him to it, went to bed and jerked off, absolutely not thinking about Valentine.

 

In the hospital, Backstrom watched Val sleeping. He was alive. For now that was as good as it got.

~

He went to find some dinner around six, wondering at the quiet until he caught sight of the tinsel around the nurses’ station and remembered that it was Christmas Day.

Niedermayer and Paquet were still out in the waiting room, playing poker with matches. They’d been for a walk, they told him, and had Christmas dinner in the hospital canteen. 

Niedermayer handed him a brown paper bag containing a turkey sandwich with cranberry crisps and a bottle of dark ale. 

‘Thank you.’ He was hungry, finally, now that the squeeze in his chest had loosened, and he sat with them while he ate. They talked about past Christmases, better Christmases, not about the people who’d died at the club, or the kid who’d killed them. He presumed the case was with the FBI. Eventually someone would want to question Valentine, when he was awake, when he was up to remembering.

Backstrom nagged Paquet and Niedermayer again to home and get some sleep in a proper bed, and finally they agreed to. Paquet told him him he should do the same but she knew he wasn’t going to leave. ‘I’m used to sleeping in a chair,’ he assured her.

~

Such was Valentine’s steady progress that his doctor turned the ventilator off that night, and once he was satisfied Val was breathing on his own, the tube was removed and the drip that was keeping him sedated was stopped.

‘He won’t wake for a while,’ the nurse informed Everett. ‘And when he does, he’ll be in pain and we’ll keep him comfortable with the morphine. He’ll hate the catheter. We can remove that as soon as he’s with it enough to complain.’

Backstrom wanted to thank her, thank all of the staff, for treating Val like a human being and for treating him like one too, for not kicking him out. The way she smiled at him, she knew without him having to say it.

It was good to hear Valentine breathing naturally. They were still monitoring his vitals but they’d turned off every sound except for alarms. Everett settled back to read, absently stroking Val’s fingers and the back of his hand as he let himself get lost in the narrative.

Four chapters later, he became aware of movement and looked up. Valentine was blinking as if the light was hurting his eyes.

Backstrom dropped the book to the floor and stood up. ‘Hey. Hi.’

It took Val a couple of tries, throat sore from the ventilator tube, mouth dry. ‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in the hospital. But you’re okay.’

‘What happened?’

‘You were shot, in the club. Do you remember?’ Val shook his head once. ‘That’s okay. You’re okay. I need to tell them you’re awake.’

~

The second time Valentine woke, Backstrom fed him ice chips and wished him a Happy Christmas. A little dopey from the sedative, Val asked what gift he’d got him and Everett told him: a manicure and pedicure, a whole new designer wardrobe, a male model with two penises. 

‘Did not,’ Val joked, voice still rough, ‘I bet… you didn’t get me anything.’

‘Not true.’

‘Then what?’

Backstrom hesitated. What he’d bought, a couple of months ago under circumstances that John Almond wouldn’t approve of, he’d wanted to be a surprise. But he reckoned Val could do with some good news.

‘A limited edition 2007 Alize Rose Valentine’s Day.’

Even in his weakened state his amazement was worth the price. ‘Serious?’ Everett nodded. ‘How?’

He tapped his nose and smiled. ‘Go back to sleep. It’ll be a long while before you can drink it.’

Val did close his eyes, but he murmured, ‘Can’t drink that. Too rare.’

~

The third time Valentine woke, it was for long enough to complain about the catheter, so the nurse removed it and showed him how to use a bedpan. He complained about that too, but the IV and other wires stopped him from getting out of bed so he shooed Backstrom out of the room while he took a piss.

While he hovered in the corridor, he thought about Lou. He didn’t want to analyse too hard his reasons for not doing calling her. They were partially because he knew Val wouldn’t want her here. But they were also because he didn’t want her here.

The night she’d told them (the night she’d stopped him from being an asshole, from making the worst mistake of his life) was the night everything had changed between them. Or maybe it had been changing for a while and neither of them had noticed. 

 

After had Lou left, Valentine had stayed in his room for over an hour, unpacking the stuff Everett had packed in a hurry. 

Backstrom had sat and stared at the TV until he was ready to admit that he’d been wrong, and was ready to apologise for being a jerk. 

Standing in the doorway of Val’s room, he said, ‘I’m sorry.’

Val stopped moving things and turned to look at him. The bruising was coming out on his face, from the beating Trippi’s boys had dished out. The stitched cut across his forehead looked red and angry. He’d been limping earlier but Backstrom didn’t know if anything was broken. 

He left like a shit.

‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ Valentine demanded, voice cracking, and Backstrom nodded. ‘Promise.’

‘I promise.’

That seemed to placate him. ‘So, you thought I was your son?’

‘Your penis looks exactly the same as mine!’

His expression turned to one of bemusement. ’I hadn’t realised you’d been paying it that much attention.’

‘Niedermayer said our noses were the same.’

‘You were going to kick me out because our noses are the same?’

Backstrom hesitated. ’That night, the night you kissed me…. I’ve been thinking about it, about you.’

Valentine nodded like finally he understood. ‘You can’t be sexually attracted to your son.’

‘No. Even I couldn’t handle that.’

Val took three steps towards him. ’What about your half-brother?’ When Everett didn’t answer, he kept coming, closed the gap and kissed him, lifting his head to make up the slight difference in height. Backstrom wanted to grab him, push him to the bed, ask him if they could try some of the things he’d read about. But Val was injured, in pain, he didn’t need to be manhandled, not that night.

There were other nights.

 

The nurse came out of the room and told him it was okay to go back inside. Just for a moment, he didn’t want to, then he got over himself and pushed open the door.

‘Sorry,’ Val said immediately, and that was unexpected. 

‘What for?’

‘Emma said you’ve been here the whole time.’ He sounded awed.

‘Emma?’

‘The nurse.’

Backstrom smiled. ‘And here was I thinking you’re a homosexual.’

‘Not being interested in someone sexually doesn’t mean you don’t ask their name. Especially as she’s seen parts of me very few women have.’ A piss and two sentences and he looked exhausted, eyes closing. ‘Did you really buy me a bottle of Alize for Christmas?’

‘Yes.’ Backstrom went back to his chair and reached for Valentine’s hand out of habit. He expected him to pull it away, but he curled his fingers around Everett’s, his body relaxing.

‘Val?’ he whispered it in case he’d already gone back to sleep.

‘Um?’

‘Do you want me to call Lou?’

‘No. Don’t.’ He was asleep after that, but Backstrom had his answer.

~

Almond, Niedermayer and Paquet turned up again the following morning. They bought Backstrom coffee and breakfast. Gravely was running interference, apparently, with the FBI, keeping them at bay. But Valentine was the one survivor of the Shadow Bar gunman’s thirteen victims, and eventually they would want to speak to him. 

Somehow, Paquet confirmed, they’d kept his name out of the news too. In the chaos, Val’s friends had apparently presumed he hadn’t been caught up in the bloodshed. If he had friends. Backstrom assumed, but he honestly didn’t know for sure.

‘Can I see him?’ Paquet asked, and Backstrom said he’d ask. 

‘You know Val. He’s vain. He likes to present an image to you guys, and hospital gown, limp hair and no makeup isn’t it.’ He said it gently, keeping it as light as a joke. But Paquet nodded, understanding.

‘It would be good to see him.’

~

‘What happened?’ Valentine asked him later on Boxing Day. ‘Why can’t I remember?’

Everett perched on the very edge of the mattress and told him what he knew. ’A seventeen year old kid went into the club, shot thirteen people at random before turning the gun on himself. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Are the others okay?’

Everett put his hand on Val’s leg, on top of the covers. ‘No. You’ll the only one to make it.’

Val closed his eyes, and Everett sat with him, keeping the physical connection but not speaking. It was a long while before he murmured, ‘Why me?’

Backstrom chose his next words carefully. ‘When he shot at you, his aim must have been off. Maybe he was distracted, maybe you were moving. I don’t know. We might never know. But I’m… glad. Relieved. Thankful. Whatever happened…. While you were in surgery I kept thinking what I’d do if they came out and told me you hadn’t made it. I think it would have killed me.’

Valentine reached for his hand, squeezing it. ‘I’m a difficult one to kill.’

~

They moved Valentine out of ICU on December 27th. With the IV out and the monitors gone, the doctor told him he could take a shower as long as he was careful and supervised, and Backstrom had seen it all before. Just washing himself exhausted him, so Everett dried him and got him back into bed. A nurse removed the wet dressings and checked the stitching. The wound, while still clearly raw and painful, looked clean. The bullet hadn’t exited, the surgeons had removed it, so the mess made had been limited. He had internal stitches as well as external ones: three to four months recovery time.

Settling into bed, wearing the black PJs Paquet had brought in for him, Val was soon asleep. Backstrom had been right in that he hadn’t wanted anyone else to see him in ICU, but maybe once he was recovered enough to be able to apply at least some kohl, and now he wasn’t in a hospital gown, he thought he might be up to a couple of visitors.

Backstrom hadn’t been home since the morning of Christmas Eve. Moto had brought him a change of clothes from the barge and he’d showered in the ICU family room. They’d all offered to stay while he went home and got some proper sleep, but the idea of leaving Valentine in the hospital made him feel sick. Or maybe it was alcohol and nicotine withdrawal. Whatever it was, he was happy just to sit and read borrowed paperbacks while Val healed. 

~

They brought Valentine food around six in the evenings. His usual diet depended very much on how fat he’d decided he looked in the mirror in the morning, and whether he’d had time to get to the gym. But even for a guy who veered between lean meat and burnt fish fingers, this time he refused to eat the carb and calorie laden plate he was presented with. Backstrom texted Paquet, and half an hour later she and Niedermayer smuggled in Chow Meine for Val and chicken balls for Everett. In return, Val seemed happy for them and to stay and visit. 

She sat on the edge of his bed and made a fuss over him, leaving the contents of her makeup bag on the bedside table for him. Niedermayer sat and ate with Backstrom, bringing him up to date on what they knew about the gunman. Repressed kid, with trouble at home and trouble at school, or at least that’s what the FBI were telling them. The lead investigator, Abby Willis, wanted to interview Valentine, of course, and while Gravely had kept them at bay while Val had been in ICU, they’d probably be over in the morning.

They stayed an hour, and by the time they left Val was asleep again, but at least he’d eaten. Backstrom thanked them both, feeling somewhat humbled by their care. 

The nurse checked on Val later but didn’t wake him. Backstrom turned out the light in the room once she’d gone, and settled down in the chair by the bed. He didn’t know what time it was when Valentine woke him.

‘Hey.’ He sat up and leaned forward. ‘Are you okay?’ Even in the dim light he could see the pain on Val’s face. ‘Let me get the nurse.’

‘No. Just…. Could you….’ He trailed off, but Everett had been paying attention over the last few years, and shifting the chair closer, he reached over and ran his fingers through Val’s hair. It only took a couple of strokes for his eyes to drift closed, his breathing to ease out, the tension to start leaving his body by increments. Backstrom kept up a rhythmic movement through feather-soft hair, fingernails gently scraping his scalp, until he was certain Val was asleep again and for a while after. 

~

Neither of them mentioned it the following morning.

The doctor examined Valentine and was pleased with his progress. ‘Let us keep you another twenty four hours, and if you’re okay and able to walk, you can go home as long as there’s someone there to look after you.’

Backstrom told him they lived together, and thought he probably took it the wrong way. Val would need looking after, he stressed, needed rest and couldn’t be doing anything strenuous that might pull on his stitches or exhaust his already depleted system. They’d send him home with replacement dressings and pain meds, but he’d need an outpatients appointment weekly until the internal stitches broke down and dissolved, and the external ones could be removed.

Backstrom promised he’d make sure Val followed doctor’s orders, which would have had his own Doctor Deb crying with laughter at the idea, but Doctor Deb was spending Christmas with his family and hopefully would never find out. 

Gravely turned up just after lunch with Agent Abby Willis in tow. Backstrom refused to leave, and he and Gravely sat in while Willis asked Valentine about Christmas Eve, about what he remembered, which was nothing. He thought the last track he heard was Uptown Funk, but he wasn’t certain about that and as far as the shooting went, he was blank. Willis kept pushing, Valentine becoming increasingly frustrated and eventually distressed, until eventually Backstrom told her the interview was over and she needed to leave. When she refused, he had one of the nurses ask her politely but firmly to get out and stop harassing her patient. As apologetic as Gravely was, Backstrom ushered her out too. 

Once they'd gone, Val asked him, ‘Why can’t I remember?’

‘It’ll come back in its own time but who knows what you saw, what your mind's protecting itself against. Give yourself a break, okay?’ 

‘I should remember.’

‘No. You shouldn’t.’ 

Words alone weren’t working, he was rubbish at this stuff anyway, so he sat up on the bed and shifted Valentine over gently. The beds were bigger out of ICU, and without wires and tubes to avoid, he fitted if he lay on his side. He tucked one arm under Val’s pillow and curled the other over his stomach, holding his hand. ‘Get some sleep. You need to rest, to heal.’

‘Missing me already?’ It was a whisper, a tease. Backstrom didn’t grace it with a response. 

~

‘That’s the image you can’t fight when you meditate? Me in a dress?’

It had been a surprise, the night he’d gone aboard the barge after a long day to find Valentine almost ready to go out. Not, in itself, a strange occurrence, but to find him wearing a full length black silk dress, with long sleeves and a high neckline, black stockings, high heels and a black wig blew Backstrom’s mind a little. He’d even shaved.

He opened his mouth but his brain hadn’t prepared any actual words so all that came out was a squeak.

Val looked up from the mirror and saw him. ’Oh, hi. Tranny Ball. Annual event. I usually blow it off but this year, after Jenna… I thought I should at least put in an appearance.’ He still had nothing. ‘Are you okay?’

Backstrom managed the final step down and stared. ‘You….’

Val smiled. ‘That’s right, i forgot. You’ve only seen a photo of me dressed as a woman. Don’t worry, I’m still all me underneath.’

That was the exact thing that was blocking Everett’s brain from processing anything else, yet somehow a single thought got through and the corresponding suggestion made it out of his mouth without censorship.

‘Do you need an escort?’

Val laughed but nodded. ‘Sure.’  
 They made quite an entrance, turned a number of heads. Valentine looked stunning, hanging off Backstrom’s arm like a trophy girlfriend. He’d had to promise not to break the fingers of anyone who tried to touch, but Everett had made a substantial effort himself, wearing his best suit, ironed shirt, polished shoes, and Val had looked impressed with the results. They had drinks, chatted with guys who looked at Valentine with desire in their eyes and other guys who stared daggers at Backstrom.

A couple of guys asked Val to dance and Everett watched them move together out on the dance floor. When he returned to Backstrom’s side, Backstrom asked him to dance. They drew an audience. Everett had always been a natural and Val was surprisingly good, willing to be lead, light on his feet. The worst part was where to put his hands. The silk of the dress was sheer, clinging to Valentine in places, hanging loose in others. He was soft beneath it, except for the parts of him that were hard, almost like touching bare skin. 

‘Is seeing me dressed up like this really turning you on?’ Val murmured into his ear, breath warm, lips brushing his cheek. Everett shivered. 

‘Seeing you? Yes. Holding you…. You’ve no idea.’

Valentine slipped from the usual waltz hold and wrapped his arms around Backstrom’s neck, pressing close from knees to shoulders.

‘Oh, I think I do.’

He let his hands slide down Valentine's back to the swell of his ass. 'Are you wearing underwear?'

'Lace panties.' Backstrom could feel his grin. He was different tonight, still himself but somehow gentler; the dress, the fact he'd shaved, the slight sway of his hips when he moved, possibly due to the heels. 'Do you want to go somewhere more private?'

The ladies toilets were empty, the odds had been good given the hotel was full of guys in dresses. Valentine sat up on the counter top, legs crossed, feet in narrow shoes tapping to a beat in his head. Backstrom cradled his head and kissed him, open mouthed, Val's tongue licking over his. He got an arm around Val's back and put a hand on his stomach, sliding down until he uncrossed his legs and Everett was able to stroke the silk covered erection, unconfined by any panties. Val gasped, hips shifting forward an inch, and Backstrom broke the kiss to lean down and put his lips against his silk covered cock, mouthing up and down the length, breathing on it. Val swore brightly and tangled fingers in his hair. 

Reaching down, Everett found the hem of the dress and hitched it up, Val wriggling helpfully to expose the tops of his black stockings, the garter belt and lace knickers pushed to one side by his erection. Everett had never gone down on a man in his life but he guessed it couldn't be difficult. He licked at the reddish tip experimentally and Val whimpered. So he closed his lips over it and slid down an inch, licking and sucking gently. Reaching one hand between Val's legs, he cupped his balls under the lace, teasing one thumb along the ridged edge of the knickers. 

Usually very vocal in bed, Val was doing his best not to attract too much attention. Everett glanced up to see him biting the side of his hand, low moans still breaking free. His eyes were wide open like he needed to watch what Backstrom was doing to him, so he made a show of it, lifting off most of the way before sliding back down as far as he could. The rush from doing it was greater than he'd thought possible. Driving Val over the edge like that was heady, and Backstrom's dick ached with need, but he ignored it, ignored Val's warnings too, and swallowed when he came. 

'God... Oh, God....' When he lifted his head Val was looking at him with a mix of adoration and hunger. He took Everett's face in his hands and kissed him, tasting himself in his mouth. Then he slipped off the counter top and turned to lean over it, the skirt of the dress bunched in one hand. 

Backstrom stared at him in the mirror. 

'Liquid soap,' he pointed out. 

Everett had never done this before either but his dick was definitely up for the challenge. He got some of the soap in his palm and unzipped his fly, pushing his trousers down, coating his aching erection. He found the right place with his finger, carefully pressing into Val's body. 

'It's okay, I'm not exactly a virgin. Come on.'

He rocked his hips, encouraging. Backstrom stroked the backs of his fingers over the smooth curves of Val's ass, down to the crease of his thighs before closing the gap and pushing the head of his cock into Val's body. He made a noise that sounded like a growl and pressed back while Everett pushed forward. It was incredible, different, raw. It felt as intimate as he'd ever been with anyone. With a firm grip on Val's hips, he fucked him, as hard as he dared, each of Val' grunts sending a pulse along Everett's dick. He didn't last long, buried it deep and came with a long, embarrassing moan of his own. 

Then he wasn't sure what to do. Val straightened up and took his hand, led them to a cubicle and cleaned himself up, handing Everett some toilet roll. It felt too impersonal after what they'd just done, and once they were both presentable again, Backstrom pulled Valentine into a hug. Arms around him, Val stretched up and kissed him. 

'Are you all right? I didn't hurt you?'

'You were perfect.' 

'I doubt that. But I can learn.'

It was worth it for the untainted joy in Val's smile.

~

Backstrom extracted himself around five and went to the toilet. When he got back to Val’s side, he realised he was awake, and judging by the expression on his face, something was wrong.

‘Are you okay?’

‘No. It really hurts.’

‘Let me fetch a nurse.’

This time, Val nodded, which meant it really was bad. Half an hour later he was back on IV, this one dripping antibiotics into his bloodstream to fight a slight infection in the wound. It felt like a backwards step, but the nurse assured them it was common enough, that a gunshot injury was prone to infection as well as being a shock to the system; disruption of tissue, nerves and blood vessels on a scale the body just wasn’t used to dealing with. He had to be patient. Backstrom knew from experience that Valentine was anything but patient. He looked miserable as hell by the time they were alone again.

‘You should go back to work,’ he told Everett after he’d made himself comfortable again in the chair. 

‘No, I shouldn’t. Do you know how much vacation time they owe me? it’s months. I’m staying. I know it’s not easy, but you would feel better if you got some sleep.’

‘Could you… read to me?’

‘Read to you?’ He smiled, surprised, and nodded. ‘Sure. Anything in particular?’ Val shook his head. 

One of the books he’d taken from the family room was an Anne Holt novel. He’d only just started in on it, so he went back to the start and read, ‘The knowledge that he only had seconds to live made him finally close his eyes against the salt water….’

~

The SCU was quiet on the morning of New Year’s Eve. The chief was keeping new cases away from them while Backstrom was out, and it was giving them time to sort through cold cases from homicide. Niedermayer had sent flowers to the hospital, with lines from a Whitman poem written on a card.

They all looked up when Amy walked halfway through the bullpen and stopped, presumably at the sight of Backstrom’s empty office.

‘Where’s Everett?’

Niedermayer answered from the kitchen where he was making coffee.

‘He’s at the hospital. He’s taken some personal time.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘Valentine was shot at the Shadow Bar on Christmas Eve. Sorry, I assumed you knew…. I guess he hasn’t had time to call you.’

‘Oh my God. Is Valentine okay?’

‘Getting there. He should be home in a couple of days.’

She held up the present she was carrying. ‘I’ll leave this on his desk if that’s okay. It’s just a little Christmas present.’

They watched her leave and looked at one another. ‘She bought him a Christmas present?’

‘What do you think she bought him?’ Gravely was peering into his office at the small wrapped box on the Lieutenant’s desk.

‘Maybe we should take it the hospital, let him know.’ Niedermayer suggested.

‘Don’t.’ Paquet sat back, shaking her head. 

‘Why not?’

‘Because Valentine needs him right now.’

~

‘Oh, God, it’s good to be home.’ Val took the last two steps and leaned heavily against the bannister. He felt like he’d been hit by a car.

‘Chair or bed, it’s up to you, but you’re going to rest. I promised your doctor.'

Val made it into his room and sat down on his bed, calling out, ’You know, you’re not great at taking care of yourself, I’m not sure how you’re going to look after me.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got help. Paquet's stoked the fridge, Niedermayer’s stoked the cupboards.’ Backstrom stood in the doorway of Val’s room. ’My team appear to have adopted you in some strange and disturbing way.’

The idea made him feel warm inside, but he joked to cover it up. ’Does that mean I can’t sleep with Niedermayer?’

‘Apparently not, given your track record of epic fails with him.’ Everett smiled and he smiled back. No matter what else happened between them, the core of their relationship didn’t change. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘Pain meds.’

‘On it.’

 

Val slept and Backstrom pottered. He called into work and checked they were coping without him. Almond told him Amy had left a Christmas present for him and he spent an hour or so wondering what she might have bought him before Val got up to take a leak and stayed up for dinner. They sat and watched some terrible slapstick movie. Valentine didn’t make it to the end, falling asleep where he sat. Backstrom nudged him gently.

‘Hey. Bed. You’ll hurt like hell in the morning if you sleep like that.’

 

He stripped naked, pulled on a T shirt and shorts, and lay down, listening to Backstrom clearing up the dishes, turning on the television. It was strangely relaxing. He didn’t usually do nights in, not alone, yet there was something about the domesticity of it all which was oddly compelling, and right then the thought of going out, of being in a large group of people, made him feel sick. When Everett poked his head around Val’s bedroom door to ask if he needed anything, he asked him to stay.

~

Valentine kicked him off the barge two days later, promising he was safe to leave alone for a couple of hours, telling him to go to work, to reconnect with his life for just a little while. Backstrom made him also promise not to engage in strenuous activity and Val had rolled his eyes and reassured him he didn’t have anyone coming over for a bout of hot and heavy sex. 

 

The moment he stepped off the elevator he was bombarded with queries about Valentine’s health. He made a general announcement that his brother was recovering and would soon be back to his old antics. Niedermayer followed him into his office and asked if he was sure about that, which threw him. 

‘If he shows signs of PTSD you should get him to see a therapist.’

Backstrom stared at him. ‘Are you kidding me? Valentine? Do you know what he’s been through in the past? I seriously doubt getting shot in an incident that wasn’t personal and he doesn’t even remember comes close to what the bastard who snatched him from the street and held him prisoner for three days did.’

‘Maybe. But just because he doesn’t remember it now, doesn’t mean it won’t come back to him. And just because the gunman probably didn’t know his name, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t somehow personal. He chose Valentine the same way he chose the others. They’re all dead. Valentine was the only survivor. That could mess with his head.’

‘I’d like to mess with yours.’ But he gave a little. ‘Fine. I’ll keep an eye on him.’ He picked up the present from his desk. ‘Is this what Amy left?’

Niedermayer ignored the question. ‘There’s something else. The FBI sent over the CCTV footage from the club before the shooting. Val’s on it.’

His heart sank. ‘Oh God. Doing what? Selling roofies to kids?’

‘No. Nothing like that. It’s more… well… personal.’

That was a relief. ‘What have they caught him doing? Spit it out!’

‘That’s possibly what he told the man who’s with him.’

‘Ugh. Wait. You’ve got that on CCTV?’

 

It was insanely hot and intensely embarrassing at the same time, watching grainy footage of his half-brother getting sucked off in the back room of the Shadow Bar. It made it more intense, knowing how Val sounded in that situation despite there not being any sound on the recording. Not only how he sounded, but how he tasted, how it felt to have those thighs beneath his hands and that dick in his mouth. 

‘The guy with him -‘ 

Backstrom’s head snapped up and he snapped the laptop closed. ‘Jesus, Niedermayer….’

‘Sorry, Sir.’ His expression turned assessing and Backstrom knew he’d been found out to some degree. ‘I just thought you should know, the guy with Valentine was one of the ones who died.’

‘Wow.’ He looked away, out of the window, no clue how to feel about that.

‘Does Valentine remember anything at all about that night?’

‘Getting to the club. Hearing Uptown Funk. He didn’t mention some guy going down on him but then it’s probably a regular enough occurrence that he wouldn’t think it worth mentioning. What do the FBI want us to do with the footage?’

‘Nothing. They’ve sent to it all the teams involved that night. The case is closed. They’ve identified the man, they think they’ve a good idea why he did it. His parents are devoutly religious. They couldn’t accept that he was homosexual, repressed him at every juncture until in the end he did what he did out of hatred. He couldn’t see he’d ever be free to be himself, so why should anyone else.’

‘You think they’re right?’

‘We can’t ever know what complexities were in his mind each time he pulled the trigger, but given what they’d found out about him from students at his school and family members, it’s probably close enough.’

‘That' what Val's life would likely have been growing up with Blue in it. Mine was hell. His would likely have been unbearable. The again, his childhood was traumatic enough as it was.’

‘Given what he’s been through, Sir, he’s a surprisingly well adjusted adult.’

Backstrom wasn’t sure about that, but then again he didn’t know many well adjusted adults. His phone rang and he answered, shooing Niedermayer from his office. It was Amy, asking him if Valentine was okay, if he liked his Christmas present, if he wanted to go for a drink. He told her he’d meet her at a bar at eight for an hour. Then he told his team to call if they needed him, and headed home, leaving Amy’s Christmas present still wrapped on his desk.

~

Valentine was watching television when he got back to the barge. Or at least, that’s what Backstrom thought. But having hung up his coat and made it down the steps, he realised he wasn’t watching it, he was staring at it, sitting forward in his chair, shoulders hunched over. Everett could hear him breathing, shallow and rapid.

‘Val?’ Everett crouched down in front of him, turning to glance at the television, seeing the news and guessing at what had happened. ‘Hey. It’s okay.’

Wide dark eyes finally left the screen and met his. ‘I remember.’ There were black streaks around his eyes where his mascara and kohl had run. Everett put his hands on Val’s knees but he was too old to sit like that for long. He sat up on the footstool, maintaining the contact. 

‘What do you remember?’

‘I saw him. The shooter. I was going to the bar and I caught his eye. I thought maybe….’ He could see the panic lighting up his eyes. ‘Then I saw the gun. I think I screamed, yelled, something. He started… shooting. Everyone else started screaming. I tried to run but I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt like it was on fire.’ There were tears in his eyes and Everett could feel the tremors running through him. 

‘He shot you, collapsed your lung. But you’re alive, Val, and you’re gonna be fine.’ Valentine nodded; quick, jerky movements as he pulled in painful breaths. ‘Take it easy. Deep breaths, slow down. You’re hurting yourself.’ He touched Val’s cheek, sliding down to stroke his neck. He felt the racing pulse beneath his fingers. He didn’t know what else to do, so he leaned in and kissed him.

It forced him to breathe through his nose, just once, and when Backstrom sat back, he took a deep breath in through his mouth and let it out slowly. 

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. You’ve nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have left you alone.’

‘You don’t need to babysit me.’

‘You were shot. You could have died. It’s all right to not be okay for a while.’

Val rubbed his face. ‘Can we go out? Just to the cabin? I just need to get out.’

Everett nodded. ‘Sure. Yes. But you might want to check a mirror.’ He didn’t care personally but Val never went out looking anything but pristine. 

‘Oh, God, do I look a sight?’ He got up, looked in the mirror and vanished into the bathroom, coming out a couple of minutes later, crossing to his bedroom. 

Ten minutes later they were walking along the port to the old cabin bar - literally a bar in a log cabin, set up by an old sea captain. It was open to the elements on three sides, just a covered wooden bar with uncomfortable stools and rickety tables and a view straight out over the black ink of the river and gently bobbing barges. Jim served beer from barrels of dubious provenance, and spirits from oversized bottles. They sat at the bar, ordered two beers despite the pain meds in Val’s system, and Valentine asked him what he’d seen when he’d got to the club.

‘Mayhem. Violence. Death. And you in the middle of it all.’

‘Alive.’

‘I just saw you being brought out on a gurney by two strapping EMTs.’ He gave Val a small smile. ‘You know you slept through the worst of it. While you were in surgery for three hours, I was drinking the hot brown water they pass off as coffee, staring at the blood stains on the floor, listening to Niedermayer droning on about….’ He realised he had no idea what Niedermayer had said, just that he’d kept up a litany to give Backstrom something to complain about, to disagree with, to shout at.

Valentine was smiling. ‘You like him. He likes you’ 

‘He likes you.’

‘He’s curious, that’s all.’ Backstrom watched him stroke the neck of his bottle in a potentially suggestive way. ‘Lots of straight guys are. Look at you.’

‘I’m not curious.’ Val’s expression turned to amazement. ‘I’m not. It’s just… you.’ And amazement turned to smug in a heartbeat. ‘Don’t let that go to your head.’

‘Wrong direction.’

‘Pervert.’ Backstrom finished his beer and ordered a second, turning to lean his elbow on the bar. Valentine was taking his time with his drink, which was at least something. ‘Something I’ve been meaning to ask you since the Tranny Ball…. Do you like men dressed as women? I mean, is that something that turns you on?’

Val shook his head. ‘No. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been with a couple of transvestites. But I don’t like the taste of lipstick, strong perfume makes me feel sick and I prefer my men to look like men and to identify as men.’ It was the answer Backstrom had expected him to give, but he’d been thinking about it. Val dressed as a woman, and pulling it off with grace and beauty, had been a huge turn on, but he saw himself as mostly straight. He’d wondered about Val, being one hundred percent queer. ‘So… I guess you didn’t see Christmas?’

There was something in the way Valentine asked that finally shook loose the thing in Everett’s head that had been bugging him since Christmas day. The fortune Jimmy had predicted for him, the one he’d been scared to read so he’d given it to Val and he’d read it. _‘You won’t see next Christmas.’_

‘I guess I didn’t.’ Backstrom chuckled. ‘I worried about that for weeks until I forgot about it.’

‘Me too.’

‘It should have been your fortune.’

Valentine turned on his stool to face him. ’Ours.’ He held up one hand, palm out, and Backstrom pressed his against it, palm to palm. ‘It would be good to see next Christmas.’ Val slid his fingers through Everett’s, folding them down, stroking his knuckles. ‘I hoped we could talk about… what’s happening between us.’

‘You mean, the sex.’

He shrugged. ’Is that all it is?’

‘You don’t do relationships. What else could it be?’

Val pulled their joined hands to his chest. ‘If I did? Would you?’

Backstrom sighed softly. ‘This isn’t you. You’ve been hurt, you’ve had a scare.’

‘Don’t… don’t do that. It’s not my first scare.’

‘It’s the first time anyone’s aimed a gun at you and pulled the trigger. You’re looking for a safe place right now, whether you know it or not, and I’m safe. You know me and I have a gun.’

‘The last person you shot was yourself.’

‘Second to last.’

Valentine let go of his hand. ‘Okay, yes, I do feel safe with you. But also… before this, when we’ve been together, it’s been special, better than just… hooking up with strangers. I’ve felt… loved, cherished, that you care about me. That’s… It's hot.’

Everett gazed at him. Since he’d started screwing Valentine, he hadn’t paid for a single prostitute. He hadn’t thought about it until that moment but he hadn’t needed them. He and Val hadn’t been together often, but often enough that he didn’t need anything else. Anyone else.

‘You and I….’ He paused. ‘You’re more to me than just sex. And… I tend to make a mess of practically everything that means something to me.’

‘You haven’t messed up the SCU. We’ve been living together for almost eight years, and while you’ve tried on a couple of occasions, you haven’t messed that up.’

He needed Val to understand. ’You’re the most important person in life.’

‘Ditto.’ Dark eyes met his gaze. ‘I’ve never been interested in… being with someone, not until now. And I know I’m no good for you but-‘

‘Hey. I love you. And don’t repeat that to anyone, I’ll deny it.’ 

‘You have my word.’ But his was smiling, grinning. Happy. ‘So? Can we?’

‘It’s a bad idea. Being brothers and all.’

‘That hasn’t stopped you yet.’

‘Maybe I think there’s a difference between screwing and… screwing with intent.’

‘Do you?’

He shook his head. Putting his hand on Valentine’s leg. ‘You know I don’t. The list of things I care about is a very short one, and you’re right at the top. Although, I’m not sure I want to be explaining to my boss that I’m sleeping with my brother-‘

‘-Half brother.’

‘But then it’s really none of her business.’ He felt Valentine’s fingernails scraping along the side of his leg, dulled through denim but no less arousing, and closing the small gap between them, he kissed him.

‘Hey!’ The barman called over to them. ‘Get a room!’

Backstrom sat back, snatching Valentine’s hand. ’We’ve got a barge.’ He started to stand when his phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen and seeing the caller and the time at once. ‘Oops.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Amy. I was supposed to meet her for a drink tonight.’

Val’s eyes widened. ‘You blew Amy off for me?’

‘As far as I’m aware, there’s been no blowing as yet. I just forgot. You needed me more. Besides, if we’re going to try the relationship thing, there’ll be no tricks on the barge for you, no prostitutes or ex-fiances for me. Deal?’

Valentine nodded. ‘Deal.’

‘Sure?’

‘I”m not completely insatiable.’ Valentine took his hand, swinging their arms as they walked back along the water side. 

’Um. We’ll see. I reserve the right to change my stand regarding tricks on the barge if you turn out to be too much for me.’

‘How about if you approve and get to watch?’

The question reminded him about the CCTV footage from the club, but now wasn’t the time if there was ever going to be one. He doubted Val would mind that the whole team had seen him getting his dick sucked, however grainy the image. It was the idea that the guy on his knees in the images had died a few minutes afterwards, killed by the same hand that would have taken Val’s life. Tired to, and failed. 

‘Can we talk about the kinky stuff later?’

‘Yeah, okay.’ He could hear the amusement in Val’s tone, and couldn’t believe he’d fallen for it.

~

The visit he'd been dreading came early the following morning. 

‘When were you going to tell me my son had been shot?’

It might have been a first. Backstrom didn’t think he’d ever seen Lou angry before.

‘Val’s an adult,’ he reminded her. ‘He can make his own choices.’

‘According to the news, he was in a coma for three days.’

The news had finally reported one survivor of the senseless violence at the Shadow Bar on Christmas Eve, and they’d got hold of Val’s name from ‘a source at the FBI’.

‘Twelve hours, chemically induced. Once they’d removed the bullet and stitched him up, his life wasn’t in danger.’

‘You didn’t think his mother needed to know?’

He stepped closer, looming a little, lowering his voice to a gruff whisper. The last thing he wanted was for Valentine to overhear this.

‘Why would I possibly have thought that? You didn’t want to know when he was a kid, selling himself to finance his drug habit. You didn’t want to know last time he was in the hospital, beaten and raped. Why would I ever have imagined you would want to know now?’

She stared at him, although the angry had become something else. ‘You know things are different between us now.’

‘Maybe you think things are different, but he hasn’t forgiven you and he didn’t want you there. I asked him. I had to respect that.’

‘He was doped up on drugs and you think he was capable of making decisions?’

‘He was making sense, I assure you.’

‘Okay. Fine. But… what about someone to stay with him, to sit with him, hold his hand.’

‘I did all that.’

She gazed at him sceptically, clearly waiting for him to correct his statement. He stared right back. ‘You sat and held his hand? You?’

‘Lou….’ He actually played what he planned to say through his head first, making sure it couldn’t be misinterpreted. ‘I do love Valentine, whatever you think. You trusted me to look out for him eight years ago, you can trust me to look after him now.’

She looked as if she wanted to say more but backed off. ‘What about now he’s home?’

‘I’ve taken time off work. But he’s fine, Lou. He’s still recovering but he’s young, strong and healthy. He just… he needs to deal with what happened himself before he can deal with you. I don’t mean it like-‘

‘I know how you mean it. It’s okay. I get it.’ She squeezed his arm gently. ‘You’re a good friend, Everett, to me and him. You’re a good man.’

 

He watched her leave, the first inkling of guilt winding its way into his conscience. 

‘Stop that.’ He hadn’t even heard Val’s room door open. 

‘Stop what?’

‘Letting her get into your head.’ He stopped in front of Backstrom, toe to toe. ‘You are a good man. And a good friend. And a great lover.’

He winced. ’That’s the bit your mom would have an issue with.’

‘Don’t you dare let her mess this up. She’s done enough damage, I’m not letting her poison what you and I have.’

Val was staring at him, warning in his eyes and Everett found himself drowning in it. ‘You know me. I’m not about to give you up because your Mom called me a nice guy.’ 

Valentine smiled. ‘That’s why I love you.’ Putting one hand on Everett’s chest, he rose up on his toes and kissed him.


End file.
